A Hospital in Another World?

Garrett and the Necromancer exchanged a glance, then looked away. The military-style speaker from the Emergency Management Department had reached the stage of expressing determination and confidence:

"As Mage Nordmark said, if our colleagues were present in Hartland City last year when the plague struck, we could have stopped it at the source, preventing it from spreading throughout the city."

He was full of confidence, with a powerful and resolute tone. Garrett quickly glanced at the audience, only to see the healer from the Temple of Springs with a blackened face, twitching at the corner of her mouth, evidently aware of the true nature of the plague long before. Garrett could barely contain his laughter:

Can you really stop it? Not let it spread? How would you do it, storm into the temple’s dark dungeons?

Lost in his thoughts, the speaker on the other side had reached the end of his speech. The speaker clenched his fist and pounded his chest, his voice loud:

"We believe that as long as we strengthen patrols and vigilance, we can definitely prevent the outbreak of the plague. Please rest assured, everyone!"

Amidst the applause, Garrett buried his head deeply and couldn’t help but smirk.

This round was too easy, almost like a freebie. Or perhaps, they willingly entered his familiar territory, allowing him to defeat them with his wealth of experience...

How can you still hold on to your original point of view? After I’ve read so many death records before you, and pointed out so many infectious diseases, how can you still stick to your original point of view and not change your approach?

It wasn’t until the secretary gestured for him to stand up and defend himself that Garrett reluctantly suppressed his amusement, standing up with a serious face. After customary greetings to all parties, he cleared his throat and fired directly at the opposition:

"First of all, I want to thank all the colleagues from the Emergency Management Department for their contributions to urban safety over the past decades. Secondly, I would like to ask—do you believe that the origin of the plague is solely due to the sabotage of followers of the evil god or enemy spies?"

"This—"

The person on the other side instinctively wanted to answer, but his voice got stuck in his throat. Garrett picked up the script from the previous discussion and read it line by line:

"In 1163, smallpox, 37 deaths; measles, 278 deaths; dysentery, 129 deaths.

In 1165, a major cholera outbreak, with 15,237 deaths.

In 1166, dysentery, 57 deaths; scarlet fever, 218 deaths.

In 1167, dysentery, 38 deaths; diphtheria, 115 deaths; smallpox, 327 deaths.

These are just a few of the sporadic infectious diseases with relatively few deaths. If the source of the plague were only external enemy sabotage, are you suggesting that the Emergency Management Department missed so many enemy attacks over the past 20 years?"

On the podium, Old Sam chuckled.

The military personnel from the Emergency Management Department clenched his jaw, almost glaring at the podium, but then forcibly turned back. Those sitting there were all great mages, the ones who held administrative power in the Magic Council—

Legendary mages were not concerned, and mages above level 15 were busy challenging legends. Those who were eventually kicked out to take care of daily affairs were just rotating members of the judging committee. Offending them? In the City of Mages, do you still want to have a future?

He had no choice but to turn his spearhead towards Garrett. Raising his head and standing straight, amidst a gentle laughter, he said indignantly:

"Mr. Nordmark, we are not talking about ordinary diseases, but the plague! Ordinary diseases can be treated with the city’s existing medical resources, only the plague can cause mass deaths!

We in the Emergency Management Department believe that as long as we prevent all enemy sabotage, we can stop the source of the plague!"

Garrett sighed lightly. "Sir, what exactly is a plague then?"

The black-robed mage on the podium became spirited. On the sidelines, several healers from different churches sat up straight simultaneously. Garrett ignored them all, moved to the whiteboard:

"Smallpox is a plague? Cholera is a plague? Dysentery is a plague? The Black Death is a plague? So, what exactly is a plague? Is it miasma, poison, a curse of demons, or a punishment from the gods?"

He said a sentence, and there were people echoing, nodding, shaking their heads, agreeing, and attempting to refute. Garrett ignored them all, just nodded to Aurora by the council table, pointed to the documents on the table:

"Throughout history, various diseases have been called plagues by us. They all have one common feature: rapid transmission, many patients with similar symptoms appearing in a short period, far exceeding the local treatment capacity. One transmits to ten, ten to a hundred, causing a large number of illnesses and deaths. So, I believe they should be given a more precise definition:

Infectious diseases.

As for the origin of these infectious diseases, I have elaborated on it in two papers submitted in February, ’On the Isolation and Treatment of Dysentery Epidemics’ and ’Records of Observing Dysentery Bacillus with Homemade Microscopes.’"

Aurora lifted the two papers in response, waved them, and continued working.

"In short, based on my observations and research, diseases such as dysentery, cholera, tuberculosis, and many other infectious diseases are caused by extremely subtle entities.

These entities—I call them ’bacteria’—widely exist in nature and only cause diseases under special circumstances. They multiply massively in the patient’s body, then are excreted and infect other healthy individuals. This process has been described in detail in my two papers.

Bacteria are extremely small, only visible under special microscopes. Sir, if you want to deal with them like you deal with enemies, waving swords to keep them out, that’s not possible..."

He spoke calmly and confidently. The military speaker from the Emergency Management Department had a bewildered expression, his face and eyes resembling a struggling student in a calculus class who picked up a pen but couldn’t follow the lecture. If there were text bubbles above his head, they would surely read:

"Who am I? Where am I? What is that guy talking about?"

"All these things you said... need evidence! Yes, evidence!"

He struggled to say a sentence. Garrett hit the nail on the head, raised his hand, and gestured towards the table:

"Aurora, the papers."

At the long table, Aurora Worton didn’t even look up, her arm glowing fluorescently, busy serving as a human photocopier...

Hearing Garrett’s words, Aurora raised her arm, and a paper flew over. The struggling student from the Emergency Management Department was dazed, lowering his head to flip open the cover, staring at the pages without being able to turn one. Garrett glanced from afar and almost burst into laughter:

Buddy, you’ve hit a wall!

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